


Synchronization: Icchibanketsu Ficlets Collection

by Shinocchi



Series: Prompts & Requests [6]
Category: Icchibanketsu
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinocchi/pseuds/Shinocchi
Summary: Contains ficlets and drabbles written multiple themes.Updates will be done randomly. Please be aware that some of the drabbles may contain triggers, do refer to the warnings in the author notes.For easy navigation, I would suggest to refer tomy story list pagewhere you could find summaries of each stories depending on which pairing you're interested in :):: Updated ::|||Indecipherable- Takeru x Jiraiya|||Untouchable- Takeru x Jiraiya|||A Good Match- Takeru Jiraiya





	1. Indecipherable [Takeru x Jiraiya]

Yamato Takeru was beyond his comprehension. Not like he’d ever understand how the mindset of a God would ever work anyway. But Yamato Takeru was… he was in a different level. He was a God, sure, but he never acted like one. His casual, dismissive attitude towards literally everything was nothing of what a person would expect from a higher being. There was absolutely nothing ambiguous about his deity status either; he never mentioned too much about it himself, but he was, undoubtedly, the one who’d effortlessly pull everyone out of a sticky situation, ironing obstacles out of the way like the most natural thing to do.

Jiraiya never understood Yamato Takeru.

“What are you doing up there?”

He was pulled back from his thoughts when the voice in his head reached to him from below. The air was fresh on the branch; he was used to spending time above, minding his own business. There was no interruption here, he was known for his ability to disappear and reappear whenever he wanted and he needed no one to be concerned for him. He was one of the eight warriors and there was really no need to be overly concerned about him.

But Yamato Takeru seemed to always appear at the right time, at the right place. At first, Jiraiya thought that he was merely concerned about the whereabouts of his subordinate, and if they were behaving well. He thought whatever Yamato Takeru was doing to him was driven via the pure impulse of responsibility. Nothing else.

But years after being in Yamato Takeru’s acquaintance, he realized that there was nothing about responsibility that the God was portraying on him. He was the most impassive warrior he ever knew, the person who disregarded anything that seemed important and was only interested in whatever that could keep him entertained.

Jiraiya never understood Yamato Takeru.

He never answered him, merely giving him a quick glance then returning to staring into nothing, acting as if he hadn’t noticed him.

There was silence for a long stretch of time until when he heard a voice just right beside his ear that he held his attack stance up and pressed his _kurenai_ against Takeru’s throat.

“What’s this? A battle practice?”

All Takeru portrayed on his face was sleek casualness, as if they were merely playing a game, as if the blade against his neck was nothing but a play thing.

It wasn’t as if Jiraiya couldn’t understand why Takeru could act so nonchalant like this. He was a God after all, which made him a default immortal.

Unlike Jiraiya, who needed to live as if his life was on a dangerous stake at all times.

He withdrew his kurenai, averting eye contact with Takeru while Takeru sat by his side, completely quiet.

He never knew what was in Takeru’s mind. He never knew what his actions implied.

And he never knew why he could be so overly attached with a mortal like himself; someone replacable, and never meant to live long.


	2. Untouchable [Takeru x Jiraiya]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touching God is a sin, he always thought so. But does that very God feel the same?

_What a view._

The three words had been reverberating in Jiraiya’s head for the third time ever since he sneaked into the room, finding himself facing an uninvited guest, then cornered against the wall of his own room after a tenacious struggle with a man he acknowledged as the strongest warrior in the group.

He never knew who was stronger – Takeru or himself – but he knew that the fact that he so willingly allowed Takeru to take advantage over him had said pretty much everything about himself.

And now, while he was pinned against the wall, with Takeru traced a finger along red painted marks on his body, his face presented of nothing but genuine curiosity as he squinted through the darkness, much to Jiraiya’s amusement.

“Hey.”

Takeru’s low growl was only responded by a nonchalant feature, a contrast that said nothing of how his heart skipped a beat.

“Did you paint these yourself? Or are these a curse that you never wanted?”

He never knew Takeru was good with words too, although he knew how he was an extremely talented deceiver.

“They come with the training,” he said simply, unsure if he should say more, or if Takeru was interested to know more.

“Hmm,” Takeru merely hummed, no longer portrayed any evident interest as he pressed his finger harder against Jiraiya’s tanned skin.

“So they will stay here forever?” he asked, even though Jiraiya wasn’t sure if he was asking a question of if he was merely expressing a statement.

“Maybe,” he answered the safest route.

Takeru said nothing after that. Lifting himself just enough to come face-to-face with Jiraiya, he pulled a smirk, inching closer, and closer, to him, before he whispered,

“I don’t mind though. Looks nice on you.”

Jiraiya never considered ‘nice’ to be something someone would use on his tattoo. They were merely marks of struggles, of commitment, and of an eternal curse that he’d never be able to pull himself off.

They weren’t something he was proud of; they were just… there.

Takeru probably held certain opinions about them that Jiraiya never knew. Did he want to know, though? Before he could conclude his thoughts, Takeru had swiped a finger against his cheekbone, still with the suggestive smirk on his face, as he said,

“You’re always like that; whenever we are in this situation, you seem to always be disturbed by something else. Do you not like me being your opponent?”

“That’s not it,” he was quick to respond. But that was all he could say; he didn’t know what else he could say to convince Takeru, or to convince himself.

“Then focus,” Takeru’s voice turned an octave lower. “Focus on _me_.”

The kiss he felt in the next second was nothing of what he first felt when these very lips were stuck on his. The once lightweight pecks were now desperate deep kisses; their motions knew exactly what they wanted from each other. The many times they’d shared intimate moments like this had taught them what they needed to know about each other’s bodies. It was only during moments like this that Jiraiya would get to peel the clothing off Takeru’s body, explore his very flesh, feeling it with his own hands. It was moments like this that he felt exclusive, that he was touching a part of Takeru that no other person was ever allowed to.

He was touching _God_ , a higher being he could never achieve, and a higher being who seemed to hold profound interest towards him; a fact that he was still taking time getting used to.

Takeru didn’t seem like he was at all bothered by the intercourse they were to share. The first time they found themselves sharing the same bedroom already had him throwing redolent smirks at Jiraiya’s direction before he found a fire blade pressed against his throat, its motion faster than he’d ever anticipate. He thought _he_ was fast; he didn’t live up to his strongest _ninja_ reputation for no reason after all. But Takeru was on another level and it was then that he discovered the reason to why he found himself submitting into this nonverbal contract despite him constantly feeling that he might not live up to Takeru’s blood.

Takeru might have a different opinion, after all. Despite the combative motion, Takeru’s eyes when he stared at him suggested nothing of his action; it was tender, hidden with vague need, and when he did as much as move an inch, he immediately felt blood oozing down his neck, feeling warm yet wet sensation against that very scar and finding himself blinded by the intense need to _overtake_ this very God here and now.

Yet, the God was tasting his blood like no one’s business; his blood, blood that held lesser of a meaning from his very own, blood that he deemed tainted and _unworthy_ of the God’s.

“Nice,” was all Takeru said.

When Takeru kissed him like this, it reminded him of the time when they first shared room. It was nothing more than a necessity, but yet, they could surely find the unexplainable intensity between them that had pulled them towards each other like the opposite sides of a magnet. He returned Takeru’s favour like it’s the most natural thing for him to do, and while they indulged in each other’s warmth, he found his hands limp by his sides, powerless, unsure of what to do.

“Touch me,” Takeru said. _How_ , was the instant next question that had popped in his head.

As if reading his mind, Takeru pulled himself away, picking Jiraiya’s hand up and placed it on his shoulder, all the while with a mocking smirk on his face

He’s definitely laughing at him, Jiraiya concluded. And it wasn’t a fact that he could swallow very well.

So he touched him; his touch genial and careful at the beginning, then it started to turn rough, his restraint thrown aside, he no longer knew how to control his own strength. He _never_ knew how to control his own strength, especially when it came to an opponent as strong as Takeru. He wanted to conquer him, but yet, he had this suppressed hesitance within him that had a voice ringing in his ears and telling him that there was no way he could win against a God.

He tried; he’s not a warrior who’d go down without trying after all. And while Takeru focused on stripping his thick layer of leather off, he did the same, pulling his outer coat off then stopping when he felt Takeru’s hand on his hair, near his bands.

“Can I?” Takeru asked. A faint glint resonated in his eyes, dampness coated his lips where Jiraiya was sucking a few moments ago. He nodded, and he hated himself for being so speechless whenever he was to share this moment with Takeru.

What happened to those sarcastic comments he’d often throw at Takeru before they stepped into the room? What happened to his cocky attitude? His composure?

What happened to grasping dominance and what happened to dominating God?

Takeru pulled his band off in one swift, practiced motion. His hair was set loose, allowing him to brace a feature that he’d never show out of the bedroom. Takeru did what sounded like a whistling sound before he leaned in again, one hand lifting strands of Jiraiya’s hair, allowing them to fall out of his palm like a tranquil stream of water before he raised the tips to his lips, kissing them and _still_ giving Jiraiya a look that suggested of nothing but teasing.

“Why won’t you leave it down when you’re outside?” he asked with a whisper, Jiraiya’s fine strands of hair wriggled just a bit from his lips movements.

“It’ll get into the way,” he said, voice flat, emotionless.

“Then why do you keep it long?” Takeru retorted, twirling the strands around his index finger, pulling just slightly, enough to feel the pull but not enough to hurt.

Jiraiya couldn’t answer the question. _Why_ did he keep it, though? It had nothing to do with his clan, his skill, his culture; _nothing_ at all.

But Takeru didn’t seem like he was waiting for an answer either. Releasing his hair, he pulled himself off his attire, revealing his fair skin before he worked on pulling Jiraiya off his remaining garments.

“Wait,” Jiraiya stopped. “I’ll do it by myself.”

“Oh?” Takeru lifted a suggestive curve on the corners of his mouth. But he sat back regardless, watched with full intensity as Jiraiya took every inch of his clothing off his body.

Their skin was a contrast, well illuminated even with the dim lighting in the room. Faint aroma floated around the space, creating a peaceful yet solitary atmosphere in the room. Yet, the stare Takeru and Jiraiya were sharing with each other now was nothing but sparks. They could see the wavering in each other’s gaze, the slight shiver of the tips of their fingers as they sat facing each other, and the urge to say something yet waiting for the other to spill their words.

It was Takeru who broke the silence; as always.

“So what’s up for today? Do you think I could prove to you that we could be compatible? Again?”

He really took Jiraiya’s words too seriously. They were mere slip of tongue that was meant to obscure his hesitance after all.

Jiraiya lifted a smirk. “What you said pretty much settled what we should do today.”

Takeru’s posture lifted. He sat without a word, as if contemplating what Jiraiya had just said. But in the next second, he raised a grin that was a mirror of Jiraiya’s smirk and closed his eyes.

“Well, do what you need to do. I don’t mind.”

_Jiraiya does_. Takeru was a God. Yet, he portrayed nothing of how a God should act like; he was dismissive, he felt as if he couldn’t care less about what was happening to this world and that he was constantly living in his own world that consisted of no one but himself.

He gave out that vibe as if he wouldn’t even mind if someone was to pick on him or hit on him or simply just… do _anything_ to him and that irritated Jiraiya greatly.

How could he acknowledge such a man as the strongest? How could he acknowledge such a man as a subordinate? And how could he acknowledge Takeru as… someone _important_ to him?

With a click of his tongue, he lurched forward, pushing Takeru against the wall and forced an aggressive kiss against Takeru. Takeru didn’t seem at all surprise, he took in every ounce of fervour Jiraiya was enforcing on him like he was waiting for it. He returned those ounce of passion with brutal strength that was on par with Jiraiya’s own energy. They kissed sloppily, desperately, deadly, as if they were trying to suck each other’s breath out of their lungs.

It was when Takeru grabbed a whole of Jiraiya’s dick that Jiraiya pulled himself out of Takeru’s mouth to let out a low growl. He was already half-hard, precum glinting under the weak light of lanterns in the room.

“Don’t think we can wait any longer, aren’t we?” Takeru smirked. And before Jiraiya could register what was happening, he already took a mouthful of his dick, pushing it right into where his head hit the back of his throat and drawing a deep moan out of Jiraiya’s own throat.

“Yamato…” he called weakly. This is so pathetic, he thought. How is it possible for him to be conquered by simply having Takeru’s mouth on his dick? He could have the best _ninjutsu_ in the entire world but this level of arousal was way out of his control.

Takeru _had_ the control.

“Focus,” the slight vibration from his dick when Takeru spoke had chills running down his spine. He was way too distracted by the cloud of lust in his mind that all he could do was grabbing a handful of Takeru’s hair and biting on his lower lip, stopping himself from letting out too much noise.

It wasn’t like this was the first time Takeru was giving him head, either. He’d learned about the various techniques Takeru would use in his past for his own gains but when he came to experience it _himself_ , it was when he truly understood why all of Takeru’s preys had never come out alive.

He could be killed now and he still wouldn’t figure out what had led to his death.

Takeru gave a teasing wet lick along his length, giving the tip of his head an intentional suck before he stared at Jiraiya, who was now completely flustered and breathing heavily.

“That’s what I love about you,” he said, stroking a finger against his cheekbone, wiping the sweat away. “Despite being overpowered by impulses, you could still hold such gaze.”

Jiraiya _never_ knew what type of gaze he was holding. His heartbeats were loud in his ears, his throat was dry and all that he could think of was ways to get rid of all these _impulses_ that was taking his sanity away.

“Ready?” he said through hoarse voice. Takeru merely smiled. He gripped Jiraiya’s hands and guided them to his back, where his hole was.

“Check it for yourself?”

There was this weird sense of dominance in him that he couldn’t quite define. Takeru was strong, he was their leader, he shouldn’t be bearing thoughts of how to overpower him.

But he did.

His actions were wild, like a beast, making him feel close to nature. He grasped a handful of Takeru’s butt cheeks and stretched a finger from each hand towards his hole. It was soft, but not soft enough. Releasing a light sigh, he pushed a finger in, immediately hearing a soft moan by his ear that had his dick twitch in response.

“Deeper,” Takeru whispered. Jiraiya didn’t need him to tell him that. He pushed deep, in one thrust, feeling heat wrapping around his finger, and immediately pushing another finger beside his first.

It’s fine. Takeru’s a God. He’s not going to die so easily.

And Jiraiya wasn’t going to give him any leniency either.

All his motions then were rough and hungry and his hands were sweating, his body slicked with body liquid and Takeru’s tongue was on his tattoos again, licking his sweat, licking his curse and he was driven by the wild impulse to finger fuck Takeru in such a ferocious way that Takeru had to bite him on the neck to stop him.

“You don’t intend to end this with your fingers, aren’t you?” Takeru asked between small laughs. Jiraiya pulled his fingers out of him. He was right. Their intention tonight wasn’t for this – they were supposed to produce new life.

“C’mon,” Takeru urged. He stood up from Jiraiya, in which Jiraiya relaxed and spread his legs, exposing his fully standing dick while Takeru gave it a few lenient pumps before he pushed his weight onto Jiraiya’s dick, the head of it pressing against his hole.

They waited. They both knew what they were waiting for. And this time, it was Jiraiya whom had broken the composure by giving Takeru a rough push on his shoulder, causing his entire weight to fall on Jiraiya’s dick and hitting him deep in the hilt with one thrust.

“Ahh!”

His own loud gasp was overpowered by Takeru’s loud moan. He’d experienced Takeru before, as much as how Takeru would always bury himself into him without a second thought. Takeru had always been brutal with him, to the extent that the nonchalant attitude he’d masked himself with was merely a deception. He never knew what was in Takeru’s mind and for a long moment, he thought Takeru was merely portraying the dominance he rightfully possessed on him. Jiraiya was never a submissive, though. He’d fight a wild fight, struggle for upper hands, and when he finally submitted to have Takeru on top of him, he’d still wear this features on his face, expression that told Takeru that he was no way weaker than him.

Burying himself in Takeru was almost taking the very dominance he’d taken over today away from him. He gritted his teeth, his grasp on Takeru’s waist slippery, their bodies mingling with body fluid that they no longer knew belonged to whom. He pulled Takeru over, their chests pressed against each other as he took a few seconds to recover from the abrupt _heat_ that was wiping his mind blank.

Takeru _was_ the personification of heat after all. He’d presented it marvellously with every skill he used on the battlefield, and even now when they were in each other’s intimacy, he could feel Takeru’s warmth so clearly, wrapping around his dick as if he was trying to melt him, and the stare he was giving Jiraiya now gave him an illusion as if he was trying to burn him from the inside.

“What’s the matter?” Takeru’s hot breath hit his neck, causing him to jerk a tad. “Too much?”

Jiraiya shook his head. He needed to get used to this. There was no telling when they’d need to share intercourse like this again but he can’t be distracted every time his opponent happened to be Takeru.

Lifting a smirk, he said, “Too much for _you_?”

Takeru laughed. Hoarsely.

“Even the coldest man like you can’t melt a natural sun, you know?”

Jiraiya begged to differ. He thrust upwards, feeling Takeru clawing against his back, and thrust again, a sign of dominance.

“We shall, ngh, see about that,” he said between pants.

Every thrust made him feel as if he was becoming one with Takeru, every low growl he heard from Takeru made him feel closer to orgasm. He’d felt intensity like this when he was on the battlefield, when he was covered in blood and scars but he was feeling the very same feeling now covered in body fluid that was a mix of his and Takeru and he wasn’t sure which was more ironic – the fact that he loved this as much as he loved being on the battlefield or the fact that Takeru had managed to, once again, overpower him despite him holding the upper hand at this very moment.

He could never win this man – Yamato Takeru, a man whom he came to know as the strongest warrior of all time.

“Did you just… become warmer?” he grunted, his nails sinking into Takeru’s fair skin, drawing blood.

“Haha,” Takeru choked. “Who knows?”

All Jiraiya did was letting out a strangled chortle before he pushed Takeru down, having him to lay on his back and proceeded to stretch him further by gripping onto his thighs.

There were no scars on Takeru’s body; he was flawless, fair, the misty sweat in Jiraiya’s eyes made him wonder if he could see through Takeru’s skin as if it was transparent. Contrastingly, he was tanned, tattoos, curses, spread across his body. He had scars everywhere, wounds from the battle grounds, marks that was a trophy of his sacrificial.

Takeru was on a completely different level from him and all he could feel was profound remorse that he’d laid hands on a God.

“I’m not perfect,” Takeru said out of the blue. Jiraiya’s thrusts had become more punctuated and faster, as if he couldn’t wait to finish soon. “I’m not the God anyone should look up to.”

Jiraiya knew his history, of course he did. But despite that, when he looked at Takeru, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of respect, of _adoration_ , of…

…someone so far away there’s no way he could come close to.

“But God or not, it’s nice to know that someone could look at me the way you do.”

He couldn’t understand what Takeru implied. Was it his eyes? Was it his existence?

He could never understand Takeru.

Their orgasm came together, warmth enveloped them, coating them in thick comfort. Jiraiya slumped against Takeru. He was so exhausted. There were so many things that he never knew about Takeru, and he was sure that Takeru didn’t understand much about him either.

But for some reason, he felt himself being the only person who’d managed to grasp this part of Takeru. And he was sure Takeru felt the same as well.

* * *

“Hey!”

Takeru stopped in his tracks, merely looking briefly over his shoulder as Susano rushed his way towards him.

“Thought you went out,” he said, while Susano pulled a big grin.

“Nah, he’s fine with Sister.”

Takeru smiled, but was quick to return to his usual dismissive composure.

“So? What’s the matter?”

“Been looking for Jiraiya,” Susano said, scratching the back of his head. “Need some help with that stove in the kitchen.”

Takeru released a light sigh. And, without responding, he started walking, leaving Susano to chase after him.

“Hold on! Do you know where’s Jiraiya?”

“I don’t,” Takeru was quick to reply. “Why are you asking me anyway?”

“Well, didn’t you share room with him yesterday?”

“So?”

“Thought you would know,” Susano said. “But if you don’t, I’ll look elsewhere.”

He didn’t even wait for Takeru’s reply before he sprinted out of the way.

They really didn’t need to be so afraid of him.

Takeru looked away, staring into a distance.

He was lying, he _knew_ where Jiraiya was.

He didn’t know how he knew, to be honest. Perhaps it was just how it worked, that the more he was to share body with another person, the more he’d come to know about the person. Call it some sort of hunch, maybe.

He didn’t even know if he could trust his hunch, but when he came to the tree located just outside the main hall, he raised an instinctive smile, knowing that this whatever hunch he was suspecting must be something that existed.

“Hey!” he called out, just to be responded by a nonchalant pair of purple eyes.

There was something with Jiraiya that had always been holding his interest. Jiraiya was a man with less words, while he was a man with many secrets. They were both men from a different world, not to mention that Jiraiya was a _human_.

Yet, as he climbed onto the tree, settling beside Jiraiya, he could tell from the way he looked at him that whatever he was feeling within him now was mutual.

Perhaps it’s fine for him to not care about anything after all. Perhaps it’s fine for him to take a break once a while – because even Gods needed to breathe, and it’d be made easier if he had someone he could trust as his closest companion, despite being human.


	3. A Good Match [Takeru x Jiraiya]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why aren’t I good enough for you?”

Even with his human alliances, he still found it hard to justify how he could fit into this group. He tried his best, but he disliked noise, he disliked group work; if it wasn’t for Yamato Takeru and the Leader, he knew that he would’ve left without  second thought.

Yamato Takeru…

What power did that man hold _exactly_  to have crush his composure so easily like this? Who did Yamato Takeru think he was? How could he allow him to overtake him so easily? He needed no leader; he was perfectly fine by his own. He was the strongest man alive, he learned everything by himself; he’d lived in solitary for the rest of his life and he was absolutely fine with it. Why would he allow a mere… _God_  to ruin his life, pushing him into this whole business that he never thought he’d be part of? 

Just like that?

There were many times when his frustration would get over him, and during those times, he’d find his own comfort zone, sitting on a tree, staring into a distance, forcing his mind to go blank. He was good with it anyway; he was a descendent from the shadow and he _should_  belong to the shadow. It was a life he’d chosen after all.

But Yamato Takeru told him otherwise. He said that he was bound for better things and that there were more beautiful things beyond his shadow. He didn’t believe in Yamato Takeru at first, but he was shining so brightly, living perfectly up to his title. He’d been in the shadow for so long, but Yamato Takeru… Yamato Takeru took him out of his shadow and regarded him as one of his.

Yamato Takeru was the personification of light – an existence he – who was born in the dark, raised in the dark,  _belonged_  in the dark – could never reach.

But yet… _yet_ , he was attached to the God, for reasons unknown.

He was so far away that simply standing by his side made Jiraiya feel that he’d burn himself. So the first few weeks they resided together, he barely made contact with him, barely talked, barely interacted at all. Merely staring from afar, at how he effortlessly disregarded every other mission pushed upon him as if it was none of his business. Of course, there was no need for Yamato Takeru to lay his hands on trivial matters; that’s why he had them after all. But when Yamato Takeru approached him as if it was the most natural thing to do, he hesitated and wondered to himself. A lot.

“Hey,” Yamato Takeru would say, in which he would always shoot him a dismissive stare, acting he hadn’t realised. Despite his contradiction, he still had his dignity, and it won’t fail him. It _can’t_  fail him.

“Do you have a name for that toad?” Yamato Takeru asked, a question he’d been pondering himself.

“No,” he said briefly, resulting in a long hum from Yamato Takeru.

“Do you want to name him?” Yamato Takeru asked again. 

Jiraiya shook his head. “Haven’t crossed my mind.”

“I see.” Yamato Takeru didn’t ask further after that. He sat with his _sake_  bottle, joining Jiraiya to stare into the blanket of moonlight spraying silver all over their lawn. 

He felt as if Yamato Takeru was waiting for him. Maybe he was testing him, maybe he was waiting for him to ask him something, or to start a conversation. He wasn’t good with neither. But the tension was agonising and he wasn’t used to being in Yamato Takeru’s company like this. Not yet.

“Why aren’t I good enough for you?” he spilled his thoughts, almost regretting what he’d just said before he saw Yamato Takeru eyeing him, wide-eyed, taken by complete surprise.

“What?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” Jiraiya looked away. This was his own problem. Yamato Takeru was good on his own. He’s a _God_ ; there’s _no way_ he can’t be good.

Yamato Takeru continued drinking his _sake_ , acting as if Jiraiya hadn’t said anything. When he stood, Jiraiya remained seated, maintaining the same posture since the past hour.

“You’re good enough, that’s why you’re here.” He heard Yamato Takeru’s voice disappearing down the corridor, heard his footsteps vanishing in the dark. 

And for once, he felt belonged – for Yamato Takeru had chosen _him_ , out of the many people he could’ve chosen as part of his team.


End file.
